Chapter Two

The One Rule Broken

I left while he slept.

Or at least I thought he was sleeping.

Julian never really slept—he calculated. Everything. Even dreams, I was sure, were just strategy sessions in disguise.

I slipped into my flats, no heels—no noise. My overnight bag had been packed since yesterday, hidden in the hallway closet under his designer coats.

I didn’t leave a note.

I didn’t owe him that.

The elevator felt like an escape pod. As the penthouse disappeared beneath me, I pressed my back against the mirrored wall and whispered to my reflection.

“You’re free.”

But freedom, I’d forgotten, comes with a cost.

-

My new job was supposed to be my clean break—a prestigious junior designer role at Wilder Interiors, miles away from Julian’s orbit. They didn’t care about my past, only my portfolio. I’d spent weeks preparing. This morning, my stomach flipped with hope.

Until I walked into the lobby and saw the receptionist’s face tighten.

“Camille Hart?”

“Yes,” I smiled. “First day.”

She didn’t smile back.

“You’re not on the schedule anymore.”

My heart dipped. “There must be a mistake. I signed the offer letter. I spoke with Ms. Wilder—”

“Ms. Wilder terminated the position yesterday. Something about a conflict of interest.”

A slow dread uncoiled in my stomach.

I pulled out my phone and checked my email. Nothing from Ms. Wilder. But there it was—an NDA. Sent from Thorne Industries Legal Division. Subject line: Notice of Breach – Contractual Boundaries.

I didn’t need to open it to know what it said.

Julian had struck.

Again.

I walked out of the building in a haze, fury burning beneath my skin like acid. People brushed past me, the city moving on like nothing had happened.

Because to them, nothing had.

To me? Everything had.

I walked until my legs ached. Eventually, I ended up in front of the small café where I’d met my best friend, Tasha, just weeks ago to celebrate my new role.

I collapsed into a seat. Ordered the strongest coffee. And finally opened the email.

Camille,

Pursuant to Clause Sixteen, and your unauthorized attempts to sever engagement, relocate residence, and pursue external employment, we have intervened to prevent reputational damage to Thorne Industries.

Should you choose to escalate or go public, remember: breach of contract is punishable by legal and financial consequences, including—but not limited to—damages up to $2 million.

Sincerely,

Thorne Legal

I nearly choked on my coffee.

$2 million. He was threatening to ruin me.

Because I wanted a job.

Because I wanted to breathe.

I slammed the cup down and pulled out my phone. Tasha answered on the second ring.

“Hey girl, did you—”

“He sabotaged it. My job. He got me fired before I even started.”

“Julian?”

“Who else?”

“Oh my God. You want me to drive over? We could call your uncle’s lawyer—”

“No.” My voice was cold now. Steel underneath the fear. “I’m going to handle him myself.”

I should’ve known better than to go back to his penthouse.

But rage makes people reckless.

His doorman gave me that same tight smile—like he knew I was always returning, no matter how loud I swore I wouldn’t.

The elevator ride was silent. My hands balled into fists. My spine stiffened.

Julian was in the living room, phone pressed to his ear, sipping wine like he hadn’t just destroyed my life—again.

“Camille.” His voice was smooth as silk. “I’ll call you back.”

He hung up. Didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“You had no right,” I spat.

“You broke the rules.”

“It was a job, Julian. Not a date. Not an affair. A career. Something I built without you.”

He raised a brow. “A career that would’ve ended in public scandal the moment someone dug too deep.”

“You mean the moment you leaked it.”

He didn’t deny it.

“I warned you,” he said, moving closer. “Clause Sixteen exists to protect both of us.”

“No,” I snapped. “It exists to cage me. You’re just too damn rich to say it plainly.”

His expression shifted.

Gone was the composed billionaire.

In his place was the man I feared more: the one who believed that control was a form of love.

“I want to protect you, Camille. Even from yourself.”

I laughed bitterly. “Spoken like a true psychopath.”

He flinched. Just slightly.

I took that as a win.

But then—he stepped aside.

“You want the truth?” he asked.

I froze.

“What?”

Julian walked to the fireplace. Tapped a hidden panel behind a painting. The wall slid open—revealing a small locked drawer.

He entered a code I couldn’t see.

Pulled out a file.

Dropped it on the coffee table between us.

“If you want to know why I’m keeping you close, look inside.”

My heart thudded.

I reached for the folder. Opened it slowly.

Photos.

Some recent—me at the café, me walking with Tasha, me asleep in Julian’s bed.

I flipped faster. My throat closed.

Then—one photo stopped me cold.

It was Julian.

Younger. Shirtless. Smirking.

And the woman on his lap—

No.

Long dark hair. Olive skin. A necklace I knew too well.

My mother.

The mother who’d abandoned me at age twelve.

Who vanished without a goodbye.

Frozen in a photograph, smiling in Julian Thorne’s arms.

My hands shook.

“What the hell is this?”

Julian looked at me calmly. Too calmly.

“I told you, Camille.”

“We’ve been connected a lot longer than you think.”

Julian has a secret past with Camille’s mother—how deep does the connection go?